


A Million Stars

by badwolfbadwolf



Category: James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: 00q NYP, AU, Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff, Love, M/M, Secret Santa, Star Trek AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:05:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfbadwolf/pseuds/badwolfbadwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Star Trek AU in which Q rigs the Secret Santa exchange to the delight of Bond.</p><p>Written for the 00Q New Year's Eve party on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Million Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skylights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skylights/gifts).



> For frijae/skylights, as part of the 00Q New Years Eve Party exchange. I hope you enjoy it! This is all the fluff in the world.
> 
> Written for this prompt:  
> snark, featuring other members of the MI6 staff and general festive-themed hilarity and The MI6 secret santa doesn’t go as planned.
> 
> They’d like to see humour, fluff, shenanigans, romance, crossover, AU, sci-fi themes, pop-culture references.

A bright chirping from the data pad at Q’s elbow makes him pause in his typing, and he immediately turns in his swivel chair to snatch it up in excitement. He swipes at the bright screen, bringing up the incoming message displayed in plain block letters.

 

_Attention: Staff of HMS Temeraire_

_Mandatory holiday gift-giving designations have been assigned. Gift-giving will commence on stardate 1435.5. Maintenance of non-disclosure on behalf of the identity of the gift-giver is essential. Non-compliance will result in disciplinary action at the discretion of Starfleet._

_You have been assigned: Captain James Bond_

Q grins from ear to ear. Hacking the computer’s annual Secret Santa random generator had been child’s play. He isn’t sure if the message is a bit over the top, but the general computer has done stranger things, certainly. Q rubs his hands gleefully and bounds out of the Science Lab and down the pristine white halls of the ship, humming merrily to himself. Bond will still be on the bridge for at least another hour and he needs time to prepare.

****************

Q is curled up in the blankets with his data pad when Bond returns, much later than normal.

“Sorry, love,” he says, leaning down to kiss Q briefly. Bond sits down on the bed and scrubs his hand over his face in a gesture of tired frustration. “I got a vid call from Mallory and had to listen to him ream me out for an entire hour over Ledos. Apparently he preferred the volcano to erupt and destroy the entire planet and didn’t like my comment that the Prime Directive was more like a guideline.”

Q grins sleepily, rolling over and curling his body loosely around Bond’s waist. “I don’t know why you like to antagonize him so much. You could get in serious trouble.”

The blond leans down to pull off his boots and shrugs lightly, breath coming out in a small puff. Q pokes him in the ribs and Bond reaches back quickly to grab Q's hands and hold them down to the bed.

“Git,” Q says affectionately, wriggling his fingers and scooching sideways on the bed so he can press up more tightly against the man’s thick body.

“Twit,” Bond volleys back, tugging on Q’s wrists to bring him to a seated position and leaning forward to brush his lips warmly against Q’s. Q moves to tuck his fingers into the hem of the command yellow shirt and begins to tug upward. They separate so Bond can strip it off, lips finding each other again, tongues lapping gently. Q runs his hands along the black undershirt, feeling the muscles stretch and turn as Bond twists from his position on the bed to get a better angle at Q’s lips. Eventually he’s forced to break apart and stand, turning around to kneel on the bed over Q who has fallen back on the pillows and is giggling like a bloody schoolgirl.

“What are you so happy about?” Bond asks lightly as he begins to pull off the undershirt as well and unbutton the top of his black trousers.

“Well, that, for one,” Q says with a grin, nodding to indicate Bond’s half-naked body. He reaches up to run a finger idly down the sternum, trailing sideways over the old battle-scars and flicking over a nipple before making its way downward. He glides his fingertips over the light trail of hair at the base of Bond’s flat belly and tucks them into the top of the black pants. Q gives an experimental tug but the trousers are too tight on his hips, and the fabric only rucks downward a little bit. “And also, your Secret Santa left you a gift.”

Bond frowns slightly as Q tips his head to the side to indicate a small-ish flat box that is resting on the bedside table. It’s wrapped neatly in silver wrapping paper with a red bow tied artfully on the top. “I think I remember seeing a memo.” Bond pulls down his trousers the rest of the way, kneeling in his pants over Q and tugging down on the blankets to reveal the rest of his pale skin. He bends down to kiss Q fully again, one hand sliding around Q’s neck to hold him in place as he deepens the kiss. Bond’s just starting to press down with his hips to flatten Q down to the bed when Q plants one hand on his chest and pushes upward.

“Wait, wait, you have to open it,” Q says, lips delightfully pink and wet.

“Can’t it wait? I rather liked where this was going.” Bond tilts his hips forward just to hear Q exhale air with a grunt as their bodies brush.

“Yes, but. You should open it.” Q pushes himself up on the backs of his elbows and makes an adorable _well go on_ look with his eyebrows. Bond grumbles but slides over to sit down and take the present off the table.

“And how would you know if I should open it? We aren’t supposed to know who has who for the exchange, you know.”

“Ah, so you do read those memos!” Q says with a laugh, pulling himself up completely and leaning back against the headboard. The covers fall down around his waist and he turns to kiss at Bond’s shoulder as the man works his fingers into the edges of the wrapping paper to tear it open.

Beneath the paper is a hardcover book, a complete luxury in the realm of outer-space. The cover is plain brown, adorned with swirling black spirals that cross over in intricate patterns. Bond opens it to reveal the title page and cracks a smile that soon turns into a chuckle.

“101 Deltan Sex Positions. Really, Q?” He turns his blue eyes on Q’s beaming face before looking back to turn through the pages with a smirk.

“Your Secret Santa must have a dirty mind.”

Bond laughs and sets the book down next to his thigh, turning to once again try to pin Q with a kiss.

“Wait, love. There’s one more thing,” Q says into Bond’s lips, laughing slightly when Bond pulls away with an annoyed huff.

“More? This is a pretty damned good gift.” They look down and the book is open to a page with two blue stick figures drawn in an artful knot. “Though, I’m not sure if that is actually possible.” Bond grabs the book and turns it sideways and then upside-down. “Perhaps if we get a chair…” A small pad of paper falls out as Bond rights the book back to its correct orientation. He reaches for the square and holds it up to Q with a quizzical expression.

“They are sticky notes. Twelve of them. Twelve days of Christmas, twelve positions.”

Bond is suddenly grinning. “My Secret Santa _does_ have a dirty mind.” He flips through the pages quickly and pulls off the first note, sticking it onto a page and turning it so Q can get a good look. “I think that number thirty-two would be a good start. On your knees, love.”

“Yes, sir,” Q says happily, throwing off the covers and scrambling around and onto all fours. He peers back at Bond over his shoulder, watching the man undress the rest of the way.

“I like it when you call me that,” Bond says, voice a little gruffer as his fingers run over Q’s shoulder-blades and ribs, sweeping along his spine. He bends forward to wrap his body around Q’s, hard cock rubbing against Q’s pants.

“I know,” Q says, biting his lip to keep from grinning too much. Bond is so predictable, but Q doesn’t mind drawing the reactions again and again. In fact, he loves it. “I did good, yes? It’s a good gift?”

“Mmhmm,” Bond murmurs into Q’s soft skin, nipping at the sensitive area where thigh meets arse. “But I don’t think you’re supposed to be revealing your super secret identity. I think that you might be subject to discipline from a Starfleet officer.”

Q laughs outright and wiggles his arse, pushing into Bond’s nose and getting rewarded with a playful slap. “I believe that the words were _disciplinary action_. Not the type of discipline that you are thinking of, James.”

“We’ll see about that,” Bond says as he pulls down Q’s black pants and presses forward. Q groans out at the first lap of a rough tongue, bending his head down and biting his lip. He lets Bond lick into him until he’s trembling, and only then does he lose enough dignity to outright beg for it.

****************

Day Two is position number seventy-five, bent over a table. Q is thankful Bond at least lets him lock the door before sweeping lab equipment off with a cringe-inducing crush of glass and the hiss of something acrid burning through the floor.

“Hey, that’s my equipment!” Q whines as Bond lifts him up onto the now empty table and attaches his lips to the sensitive space beneath Q’s ear.

“Sorry,” Bond says in a voice that doesn’t sound one bit sorry at all. He bites down hard on Q’s neck and slides his hand down the front of Q’s trousers and pants swiftly. “We have to be quick.”

They kiss roughly, struggling to strip off the other’s clothes as quick as possible, knocking over another glass beaker in the process and causing Q to whack Bond on the shoulder before being pressed down deliciously into the table, face first. The microscope and Q’s collection of petri dish experiments don’t survive the encounter either but with Bond’s fingers sinking inside of him, Q finds he just doesn’t care.

****************

Q knows for a fact that Bond has him in the gift exchange, but he still acts surprised when he opens the gift that he finds placed on his computer console.

“Oooh, what’s that?” Eve asks nosily, peering over Q’s shoulder. She smoothes down her red dress as she leans forward to grab at the small bag, her springy hair tickling the edges of Q’s cheek. She rifles through the tissue paper and pulls out a small wrapped square.

“Oh, chocolate? That’s a bit mundane for a Secret Santa gift.” She hands it back to Q and raises an eyebrow at his annoyed look.

“What kind of person are you who doesn’t like chocolate? Everyone likes chocolate.” He opens one of the wrappers and places it on his tongue, letting it melt and making a tiny noise of pleasure.

“I’m more of a tea and biscuits type of girl.”

“That’s so romantic of you.”

“Lucky for you, we’re not dating.”

Q smirks slightly, snatching back the chocolate from Eve and ripping open the corner. “Who do you have for the exchange?”

“No cheating, sweetie. Regs.” She grins and turns around to make her way back to her own station, turning to smile at Bond in the command chair who is giving her a _get back to business_ look which is rich coming from him. Q knows exactly who she has in the Secret Santa, and he had seen the Chief Medical Officer smiling at a pair of fuzzy handcuffs and tucking them away in his pocket. Trevelyan had looked awfully pleased and Q doesn’t mind playing cupid just a little.

“Ah, regs. Someone has to follow them, I suppose.” Q wipes his fingers off on his trousers and sets the bag of chocolates to the side of his keyboard. He licks his lips, eyes darting over to see Bond watching him from the corner of his eye. His trademark smirk is just hinting at the corner of his lips and Q flushes ever so slightly. He never tires of that look.

“Incoming Transmission. Language is unrecognized,” Eve says suddenly, and they all pause to glance at the screen for potential threat number three hundred and ninety-two of the year.

*******************  
Day Five is a game of chess in which the winner gets to pick the position. Q, of course, wins, and gives five bossy minutes of directions that has him getting off with just Bond’s tongue. Day Eight is lazy sex in bed, spooned together with slow thrusts, whispered kisses, and hands held clasped. Day Ten is a rather vigorous session in the gym followed by Bond pressing Q up against the shower wall, one leg hitched up over Bond’s forearm, fingers in all the way to the webbing. The water sluices away Q’s come and they kiss until the temperature drops to frigid and Q’s hair is dripping into both of their eyes.

Day Eleven is a bit of a disaster. Bond has Q crowded up against a shelf in the supply closet, lips locked and rutting against each other like they are teenagers. He pushes Q’s blue shirt upward, gathering the jersey-like material and yanking until Q’s limbs are caught and the shirt is tangled around his head.

“Ow, ow!” he yelps as Bond tries to pull it off unhelpfully and yanks on Q’s hair. “How are you so bad at this?”

With perfectly terrible timing, the closet door swings open without warning and the lights flick on quickly.  The harsh flourescents reveal their shocked faces and an even more shocked Eve who is rooted to the spot with eyes wide as tea saucers.

“Oh my god!” Eve splutters out, getting an eyeful of Q’s naked chest and Bond’s unzipped trousers. “Don’t you have a room!” Q pulls the shirt back down quickly, his cheeks heating to beyond ridiculous levels, mortification seeping through his bones. They stand awkwardly looking at each other for a moment before Eve finally comes to her senses and slams the door shut.

Bond begins to laugh quietly and it turns into a full-bodied roar as he wipes tears from his eyes. Q shoots him a look of supreme annoyance and begins to search around for his boots. He tugs one onto his left foot, hopping to get it to slide in.

“Before you say anything, no, we are not continuing.” Q’s tone is curt and the statement just makes Bond laugh harder. He wipes at his eyes and pulls Q to him, knocking the brunet off balance as he attempts to put on his other boot.

“Alright, love.” Bond attempts to pull Q into a quick kiss but he twists out of his grip and breezes away, shutting the door solidly behind him. He avoids the bridge and Eve for the rest of the day, lurking in the Science Lab and restarting his petri dish experiments that Bond had so casually destroyed earlier in the week.

**********************

Day Twelve, though, is nice. The stream of chocolates and teas left in small boxes on his desk make Q smile, thinking of Bond picking up each little item in a store during his last shore-leave which would have been months ago. It is a very pleasant thought. But today there is nothing there and Q tries not to feel the disappointment that rolls through his chest. Bond isn’t on the bridge either, and instead Trevelyan is sitting in the large chair, chin resting on his fist. Q had let Bond cuddle up to him the previous night and they’d made love slowly without consulting any of the pages of the book, but he was curiously alone when woken by his alarm at the usual hour.

Q creases his brow and pulls up his messages, reading through the daily memos. At the bottom of list is one with no subject, just the sender’s name. He pulls it up quickly. There are only two lines to the message, nothing more.

 

_Stardate 1447.9_  
_Observation Deck_

_-JB_

 

Q muses over the possibilities, deciding that he likes all of them, and closes the message. The rest of the day seems to drag on interminably, with Bond suspiciously missing for its entirety. He’s not even there when Q returns to their quarters and showers alone, half hoping the large body would slide open the curtain and wrap around him. He dresses quickly, checking the time on the chronometer and beginning the long trek across the ship to the Observation Deck. His pace is leisurely and Q takes his time, not wanting to be early and spoil the surprise. The crew nod as he passes, and a few exchange pleasantries. The evening is wearing on, but Christmas in the morning has everyone a little happier, a little more cheerful, a little more friendly.

It’s nice, relaxing even, and as Q draws up to the door of the Observation Deck he suddenly feels a little bit of inexplicable nerves. He chalks it up to anticipation and too much Earl Grey and only hesitates slightly before pushing open the door. Q steps inside the room and although there are no artificial lights, the pearly luster of millions of stars shine through the gigantic floor to ceiling window and illuminate the entire room. Bond is standing near the window looking dapper in his casual clothes, and he turns to smile at Q and offer his hand.

Q walks forward quickly, grasping onto the hand and allowing himself to be pulled close and tucked beneath Bond’s arm.

“Hi,” Bond says, smiling and leaning downward slightly to kiss Q on the nose.

“Hi,” Q says back, eyes slightly crossing before refocusing on Bond. The light is soft and kind, highlighting the planes of his face, the crook of his nose, the skew of his ears, the curve of his lips. Bond stills beneath the examination, letting Q look his fill.

“All this time, Q,” he says softly. “All this time, and it’s still you.”

Q feels his heart clench slightly, the way it always does when Bond whispers in his ear. He pulls Bond by the collar of his shirt into a deep kiss, wrapping his arms around the man and feeling the weight of love, trust, happiness in each soft touch of skin. They kiss for a long time, just lips and tongue and shared breath, content to just be and not have to do any more.

When they finally pull apart Bond still holds Q tightly to him, hands wrapped around his slim hips. “I cooked dinner, too.”

The spell is broken and Q pulls back in surprise. “You cooked? You? I didn’t even know that was possible!” Q grins at the fake look of hurt that Bond tries to pull and leans forward to kiss him quickly.

“Hey, I know my way around a replicator. And I also hand-made the dessert.”

“Oooh!” Q says before Bond grabs him by the arse for a quick squeeze and shepherds him over to the table.

“So is this the big Secret Santa reveal? Do I get to find out who my sweets supplier is?” Q is grinning playfully and Bond sits down and pulls him onto his lap, smoothing down an errant curl behind the long ear.

“You know bloody well that it was me, you cheeky little git. You fixed the thing.” Bond smirks to lighten his words and dips his head forward to lick along Q’s jawline.

“I love you, James.” Q winds his hands into Bond’s shirt, drawing their bodies tightly together.

“Love you too, Q.”

They kiss bathed in the beautiful light of a million stars, a thousand worlds, a thousand galaxies. The food and the stars are forgotten and Q’s world is narrowed down to just Bond’s words ringing in his ears, Bond’s lips soft on his own, Bond’s hands tight in his hair. And Q is utterly, completely, ridiculously happy.


End file.
